


Oshite Mairu

by Xairathan



Series: Fate/TTRPG [3]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22707247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xairathan/pseuds/Xairathan
Summary: Another short based off the FGO TTRPG that my friend is running. Comes shortly after a piece that another player is working on and may (or may not) make public.
Relationships: Jeanne d'Arc Alter | Avenger/Nagao Kagetora | Lancer
Series: Fate/TTRPG [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857889
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Oshite Mairu

**Author's Note:**

> Another short based off the FGO TTRPG that my friend is running. Comes shortly after a piece that another player is working on and may (or may not) make public.

Dirt caked on dust slathered over sweat. Kagetora’s hair sticks and settles to her forehead as she settles upon the rock she’s chosen as her perch. So many days of traveling remind Kagetora of the marches she’d embarked on during her lifetime. It’d been easier then, when Houshoutsukige was with her— but just as slow, she thinks, glancing at the shadows of sleeping Masters and Servants thrown long by the dying campfire. 

High above, the moon darts in and out of sight behind a sluggish blanket of clouds. Were it not for that ring of light around it, a constant reminder of an unseen threat, Kagetora might find it in herself to indulge in a little drink. It was always the nights like these that had allowed for it. Sufficient moonlight and windless skies was a sufficiently good omen, enough for Kagetora to justify taking a bowl of sake to thank Bishamonten for it. 

It’s not the silver rings of rippling sake that Kagetora’s eyes fixate upon, but a glint like charred iron vanishing into the treeline. In an instant, Kagetora is on her feet. With one hand, she hefts the shaft of her spear, tracing movement between the branches. There’s no threat— whatever it is, it’s headed away— but the night is still; there’s only one thing that glimmering could mean, and her Master’s order from days before burns bright in her memory. 

Snapped branches and leaves ground underfoot make an easy trail for Kagetora to follow. In spite of this, she lingers back: there’s no use in approaching too quickly and frightening her quarry off. Soon the night’s silence is broken by a muted murmuring, the call of a stream interrupted by clanging metal and the slosh of upset water. 

Kagetora steps behind a broad tree, using its shadowed canopy for cover. Her golden eyes peer out from the darkness, twin embers surveying the landscape like they would appraise a gift of sake. As she’d suspected, it’s Jeanne Alter who’s out there in the waist-deep water. Her hands peek around the curve of her shoulders, betraying the faint trembling of her body. Dragon Witch or not, the stream is still cold, a rapid current bearing away whatever warmth Jeanne Alter might try and call to comfort herself.

On the rocky banks, stretching in a jagged zig-zag line back towards the trees, is the cluttered assortment of Jeanne Alter’s armor. Kagetora steps towards the nearest piece, a gauntlet, sandals still whisper-light over the tight-packed gravel and dirt. Perhaps it’s this movement of hers that brings Jeanne Alter’s back into sharp focus, or else a fleeting moonbeam escaping from the cloudbanks to play over her spine. Whichever it is, it stops Kagetora short. Her sandal digs into the ground; loose pebbles tumble over each other in a racket, and Jeanne Alter whips around, arms crossed tight over her front, fixing Kagetora with a heated stare.

“You,” Jeanne Alter hisses. Her eyes go to her banner and sword, thrown carelessly down by the edge of the water. She’s no closer to them than she is to the opposite shore; Kagetora, if she wanted, could be upon her before she could hope to reach either. Still, she bares her teeth, refusing to show a hint of hesitation. Kagetora would leap upon it, should Jeanne Alter give her the opportunity (or so she thinks). “The hell do you want?”

“I heard a noise,” Kagetora says. She stoops, picking up the gauntlet, though Jeanne Alter never quite leaves her line of sight. “As I am on the night watch, it is my duty to investigate.”

“Yeah?” Jeanne Alter jabs her chin forward, leering at Kagetora. “You do this when you were alive, too? Perv on women bathing like that Archer of yours did?”

“I would do nothing as tasteless as that. I thought I would have made that abundantly clear,” Kagetora sighs. A pause— Kagetora twists her head one way, then the other, studying Jeanne Alter with owl-like eyes— “Were those command seals on your back?”

“So you saw.” Jeanne Alter shifts backwards, retreating towards deeper water. Her teeth grind down on her lower lip, teasing it for a moment. “Yeah,” she relents. “Yeah, they are. So what?”

“Why are they on your back?” Kagetora tucks another piece of armor beneath her arm and circles around to collect more, gathering them all in a heap by Jeanne Alter’s weapons. “All the Masters I’ve seen wear their command seals on their hand. Why are yours different?”

“None of your business,” Jeanne Alter snaps instinctively. Kagetora doesn’t nod, or shake her head, or anything. She picks up another bit of armor, deposits it on the growing mound of metal, goes back looking for more. All this, she does with the same unfaltering smile, wearing unknowingly on Jeanne Alter’s already tired and strained nerves. “Fine!” she shouts, breaking the surface of the water with an angry slash of her hand. “Fine, okay?! They’re from when that goddamn Caster wished for me, alright? My original’s got some like that, so I got the replica. Understand? Are you happy now?”

Kagetora doesn’t answer right away. She picks the last of Jeanne Alter’s armor up from the rocky ground, brushing it clean with gloved fingers. Jeanne Alter’s headpiece flashes with moonlight as Kagetora moves towards the pile; Jeanne Alter wrenches her eyes away from the silvered glow, seething quietly at her reflection, distorted in the water. 

“I suppose,” Kagetora finally says, rubbing the pads of her fingers against each other. “There’s one thing I don’t understand, though. If Gilles was the true summoner of those Servants, then how is it that you still have command seals?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out already, Bitchamonten.” Jeanne Alter laughs through clenched teeth, masking their chattering with the harsh sound. “All your drivel about being the god of war, and you can’t even reason out something as simple as this.”

Again, Kagetora doesn’t respond. She simply finds a place on the shore to sit, clearing a spot by Jeanne Alter’s armor and settling neatly onto her knees. Even with a numbing cold creeping up her body, Jeanne Alter feels her gorge rising, accompanying a violent rush of heat to her cheeks. She should’ve expected at least this much out of Kagetora. When, if ever, had Kagetora responded to her taunting with anything less than calm and measured words? 

(Or, though Jeanne Alter would never consider it, it’s because Kagetora knows well enough that Jeanne Alter will tell her eventually. It’s as much a compulsion as her thirst for vengeance is, and one that Kagetora understands well enough herself.)

“They don’t work, you fucking idiot.” Jeanne Alter’s teeth snap shut over her words, biting off the end. A growl has worked its way into her low tone, growing with each passing moment. “I only have them because my original had them, don’t you get that? So I get the same thing, only it’s fucking useless. Just another imperfection for me to worry about, so don’t lose any fucking sleep over it, Bitchamonten.” 

Jeanne Alter sets her jaw, stepping further out into the water. It sloshes around her, lapping at the join of her shoulders and her neck, so cold that Jeanne Alter’s teeth find her lip again to stop from clacking together. Her mouth moves; over the sounds of trickling water and Jeanne Alter’s labored breathing, Kagetora catches lines strung into a pitiful breeze: “...imbecile wasn’t even able to properly articulate his wish,” Jeanne Alter huffs. Her fingers claw at her shoulders. “Of course, it’s all my damn original’s fault. Too pure to corrupt, what bullshit…”

Jeanne Alter’s eyes dart towards Kagetora, glowing like torchlight under the moon. She doesn’t look for long— just enough to tell if Kagetora is still watching her. With the way the moonlight comes over the trees, it’s hard to tell. Leafy shadows mask Kagetora’s face, obscuring her expression. She could just as easily be staring at the shifting sky as mulling over the Alter’s words. The only movement between them comes from the river, breathing through the trees, ephemeral glimpses of the moon scattered over its surface.

It’s a silence too heavy for Jeanne Alter to bear. It’s not a lonely one; even if it were, Jeanne Alter had gotten used to isolation when Gilles and the other Servants were out ravaging France (at her command, she’d once believed). This stillness rings with the echoes of Kagetora’s voice and a dozen others with it: her original’s passion, somehow cold and disparaging; the princess’ laughter like a melodic chime amongst all the other Servants’. She’d shared nothing of the sort with Gilles and the others. All their talk had been of France and revenge. Jeanne Alter should be fine with the quiet, this absence of anything goading her to  _ destroy _ , but she chafes under it. If even Kagetora, the only other Servant she’d spoken at length with, who she’d pulled out from under the rubble of the collapsing mansion, didn’t want to speak to her— 

“Well?!” Jeanne Alter shrieks. Kagetora’s head twitches, rapidly turning towards her. “Aren’t you going to say something, or do you just intend to sit there all night? Don’t you have something better to do, like go keep watch over those stupid humans of yours?” Jeanne Alter strides towards the shore, not quite willing to leave the water fully, but drawing closer to Kagetora. “Why are you even here? Is this what you’re into in your spare time, huh? Do you get off watching people struggle with themselves? ‘Oh, I’m the great Bitchamonten, I’ve got everything figured out. Look at everyone else, being all pathetic.’ Is that it?!”

It takes a moment for Kagetora to respond. In that brief repose, the wind goes still, as though the world itself wants to bare Jeanne Alter’s ragged breathing for Kagetora’s amusement. Kagetora doesn’t laugh, though, nor does her smile change. She simply tilts her head and lets her bangs fall partly over her eyes, saying, “My Master told me to keep an eye on you. Is that not reason enough for me to be here?”

“So that’s it?” Jeanne Alter scowls, churning up water as she moves to turn her back on Kagetora, then thinks better of it. “I told you before, what’re you doing listening to someone as pathetic as her? For someone running around shouting about being a god, you really don’t mind being this weak?”

“Weak or not, I was still strong enough to beat you.”

“But weak enough to be beaten by one of those— those Oni! What kind of shitty god gets defeated by something like that?” 

The accusation is little more than bait, and Kagetora knows it. A shake of her head is all that she yields. It’s in no one’s interests to continue their argument from before, nor for Jeanne Alter to again consider the question of whether she could truly be called a Servant. Instead, she says, “Even if I hadn’t been given an order by my Master, I would still have come after you. As distasteful as your manner may be, I must admit that you interest me on a personal level.”

“Yeah?” Jeanne Alter snarls. “Why’s that? Think you finally found someone who’s more of a freak than you are?” 

The night, the world, everything stops. That’s the only thing that Jeanne Alter can think to make sense of this moment frozen against her eyes. There’s no other reason that Kagetora would go so still, for the steady passage of her breath to stutter so suddenly. The clouds break again, their light betraying Kagetora: the brief illumination casts Kagetora’s pale knuckles in white like her robes. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, lift as though the moon’s appearance might reveal some otherwise unknowable answer. 

A light breeze rustles through the forest. The stream churns dutifully towards the sea. The world moves on around them. Only Kagetora is motionless. To the strands of silver beaming down from above, she’s blurred into and become lost in the darkness of her own shadow. 

“Maybe…” Jeanne Alter leans forward, trying to catch Kagetora’s hushed words before the sounds of the night snatch them up. “I simply wanted to see if you could go beyond the circumstances that dictated your creation.”

“Why?” Jeanne Alter asks again. “You think I’m some sort of experiment or something?”

“I was born with the strength of gods, and I became the avatar of Bishamonten. You were created with nothing but vengeance in your heart. What will you become, I wonder?”

“That’s it?” Jeanne Alter purses her lips, as if she’d meant to spit into the river before reconsidering it. “God, no wonder you’re so into that Bitchamonten persona of yours. You want an answer to that? I could’ve told you that from the start. I’m not going to turn into anything different; I’m already the opposite of my original, and that’s the only thing I was made to be. You’d think someone who thinks she’s touched by god would be able to identify an opposite when she sees one. Really, why do I even bother with you?”

“I don’t know.” From the waterline comes the patter of shifting gravel, Kagetora easing her weight from one arm to the other. “I was hoping you would tell me. You never did tell me why you chose to pull me out of the rubble back in Paris.”

“Isn’t it fucking obvious?” Jeanne Alter snaps. “I told you, I wanted a rematch with you. How was I supposed to do that if you were buried under all that shit?”

“Is that all?” Kagetora tilts her head from side to side, chasing the dwindling moonlight from one shore to the other. “If that’s the case, I’m still thankful for your help, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“Yeah? And what would make you think you’re right about that? You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough about what kind of a person you are.” Kagetora’s gaze finally leaves the water, drifting off sightlessly into the distant treeline. “In spite of what you say, of your short temper and refusal to stay near anyone for long, I know you wish for someone’s company. If you truly wanted me to leave, you could have chased me off long ago.”

“How?” Jeanne Alter bristles, disturbing the stream around her. “I don’t have my weapons, you idiot. Do you ever think before you— ”

“There’s that fire of yours.” Oddly, Kagetora’s voice sounds flat. There’s no self-assured undercurrent, only a mild tone drawn taut with tension. “Aren’t you always threatening to burn me and my Master? You could have used that, couldn’t you?”

“You— ”

“And you were the one to approach me that other night.” Kagetora shakes her head, stray strands of hair slipping from her ponytail and drifting in front of her face. Between that and the moonlight flaring through the clouds, Jeanne Alter can’t make out the details of her face: she imagines that somewhere, beneath the glare, Kagetora’s smile is as rigid as ever. 

“Because I was bored; how hard is that for you to understand?!” Jeanne Alter’s shout stirs the trees, a warm breeze tickling the leaves and the back of Kagetora’s neck. “Don’t give me that bullshit about knowing me. You keep going on about how you don’t need to understand humans, so why is it suddenly different when it’s me?”

“You don’t have to be human to understand the feeling of being separate from everyone else.” Kagetora’s fingers stir up the gravel by her thighs, worrying the pebbles against her palm. “For the very reason you said, I was unable to close the distance between myself and my allies when I was alive. I know well enough the desire to be able to speak to someone.”

“We’re not fucking allies.” 

“Maybe not, but we’re both on our way to kill that Caster, so we are comrades in some sense of the word.” The break in the clouds seals over with roiling grey, bringing Kagetora’s face back into clarity against the shadows. Her expression hasn’t changed, as Jeanne Alter expected. She’s still staring into the trees with that carefully curated smile, eyes blank as they always are save for when they’re taking in the heat of combat. “However, if you are so insistent on maintaining that image of yourself, I will be happy to indulge you.”

Kagetora rises smoothly, dusting lingering bits of dirt off her robes. She’s hardly taken a few steps in the direction of their camp when Jeanne Alter calls out to her, growling, “I don’t need any of your fucking pity, Bitchamonten. You got that?”

The proper answer, Kagetora knows, is to say that she doesn’t pity Jeanne Alter. It wouldn’t be a lie, either— she doesn’t. Jeanne Alter knows this, too. She knows it isn’t in Kagetora’s nature to show mercy or leniency. Kagetora had made that clear some nights before. 

Behind her, there’s a crack in the melody of the river; a stutter in the wind. A note of silence stretches itself from Kagetora’s memory and into the gap in reality, winding tight around her chest. “Don’t mistake me,” Kagetora says, more level than she thought herself capable of being. “I’m merely offering you the same consideration I’d give any other Servant my Masters wanted me to work with.” 

Kagetora’s not sure if the scraping sound she hears is Jeanne Alter’s teeth grinding together, or the gravel beneath her sandals as she takes the last step off the shore. Whatever it is has been lost to another thought, a ghostly counterpart to the answer she’d given Jeanne Alter, the last words she’d spoken before her mind had been made up for her to leave her home behind. 

Tucked in the safety of low-hanging branches, Kagetora allows herself to turn back. For once, she doesn’t know what she expects. Some part of her, she thinks, wouldn’t be surprised if Jeanne Alter was gone, or else receding into the opposite grove of shadows. 

Jeanne Alter’s silhouette still protrudes from the river. She’s turned her back to Kagetora again, thinking her gone. In a moment, that’ll be true, and Kagetora will be on her way back to the camp and its now-cold ashes. For now, she permits herself to stand looking at the river, its shimmering surface mimicking the moon, the rushing water indistinguishable from the silver of Jeanne Alter’s hair.


End file.
